


tightrope wires

by DragonNinjaAri



Series: Supernatural College AU [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Established Relationship, F/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-15
Updated: 2012-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-03 16:52:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/383725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonNinjaAri/pseuds/DragonNinjaAri
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Distance sucks, he's learned.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tightrope wires

**Author's Note:**

> Written for tumblr user flashandthunderfire.

They first meet when he is eight and she is five. The day's hot and sticky, and he's walking Sammy down the street to get ice cream. I'm six now, Dean, says Sam, and I'm old enough to walk to the ice cream mobile by myself, but Dean's insistent, because this's my job, Sammy.

A dollar ninety-eight later, Sammy's swinging their hands as they walk, his fingers even more sticky with sweat and chocolate, the same chocolate that's smeared all around his mouth, and Dean, with his cherry cone, couldn't care less. Mom said earlier I'll put out the sprinkler when you get home so he's gonna pull off his shirt and run around under it to get cool again, and then when night falls they'll catch fireflies and sit on the hood of the Impala once Dad gets home.

(Dean's real glad Mom's off work for awhile. He loves it when she's home.)

Except there's a car in the driveway, one that's definitely not his Baby. (She's already his, he insists, and Dad really doesn't fight him on it.) It's a big ol' red truck, and it's dusty and covered in dead bugs. It just went for a drive. Dean can tell these things. The passenger door's wide open, but he can't see anyone inside.

The two boys stare at the truck, stare at each other, and then Dean starts to pull on Sam, come on, Sammy, come on we gotta explore, but Dean I don't know about this, Sammy mumbles with a frown and his sticky fingers. The door's a bit high, so here, hold my cone, and Dean hoists himself up, one hand at a time until he's popped his elbows up on the seat, until he's pulled his knees up and he's looking straight ahead.

Straight ahead at a little girl with really blonde pigtails and a sippy cup sitting on the hump of the front seat.

He couldn't see her before, probably 'cause it's so big and she's so tiny, and Dean's figuring this out just as she screams and swings her tiny fist into his nose and he's windmilling his arms to stay on the truck.

At least the grass is soft and the sky's nice, and at least Mom and Jo's (that's the little terror with a right hook, he learns) parents run out soon after.

They're sitting on the couch inside and Dean's got an ice pack and a grudge and Sam's holding the tissue box and Mom's talking about how they're moving here, fixing up that weird bar-house on the outskirts of town. But that doesn't matter, because he's got an ice pack and a grudge.

An ice pack and a grudge and a bloody nose.

Jo's staring at him. He stares back, because this is a challenge, he thinks, and he almost sticks out his tongue at her, but then she reaches over and grabs the ice pack and puts it on his forehead.

"Mama says this helps better."

Her voice is quiet but strong and firm and kinda curvy (it's a bit of an accent, he learns).

"Hi. Sorry. I'm Jo."

He was doomed from the start.

*

This time, she calls him. Dean's never been a heavy sleeper anyway, so when he hears Smoke on the Water start up, his hand's around his phone before he even realizes he's awake. It's muscle memory by now.

"'llo?" Apparently nothing told his mouth he's awake and talking now. He smacks his lips together and sits up, leaning against the apartment wall. "Hi. Jo?"

A breathy laugh leaves the speaker and he almost swears he feels it on his cheek; or it's the beach he was dreaming of, draining from his subconscious slow like water the fucking bathtub they keep forgetting to get fixed. "No one else crazy enough to be a mid-morning caller? Should I be honored or insulted?"

He snorts, now supporting himself with the wall and one elbow, eyes drifting lazily around his small room. "Got it all wrong, sweetheart." He slips into a drawl, like he does when he's tired, like she does when she's tired. "You're the only one I'd accept a call from this late."

"Oh, God, stop trying to be charming. You suck at it." Her voice fluctuates a bit, like she's trying to keep from laughing.

Or otherwise, but he always likes to hope.

He wets his dry lips and says, "I've been told otherwise. Seem to recall being told that by a real familiar girl, actually--"

"Shut up." Even though it's nearly -- a quick clock glance -- three in the morning, she's wide awake, and her tone's like sugar-- or more like honey left out a bit too long, sweet and caramelized and just a touch too firm. He doesn't know what she looks like when she's talking on the phone. Not for long periods of time; he's never seen her do it before. Still, she's probably smiling. It sounds like she's smiling. "I'll hang up on you."

No she won't. She's the one who called.

"Alright, alright." But he plays along. "Point, Harvelle." He shifts again. Gotta get comfy.

He doesn't ask, but she answers, "Your mom keeps inviting me over. It's sweet, but a bit heavy-handed." Almost in a rush, she adds, "I like your mom, though. I mean, 'course I do. Still, feels weird, without you and Sam. How's Sam, anyway? He moved in okay?"

Dean bites down a chuckle. "You could say that."

"Oh no. Already? Tell me, how bad?"

"Sammy's totally head over heels." Dean's glad Sam had to go through the freshman housing crap for once. It means he can gossip about him without fear of being overhead. "Said something about a date."

A high-pitched and almost scandalized gasp tumbles out of Jo's mouth, a rare treat for him. "Did he really? That ass, he didn't tell me anything!"

"I'll make sure to pull his hair for you in the mornin'," Dean promises dutifully, to which he receives a pleased  _mmmm_ in response.

He'd rather hear it in person.

Another answer to another question, "Ma didn't even have to bug me 'bout the paperwork. Got it all turned in. Even the crap essay." There's static, so she's either breathing heavy or fumbling with the phone. "They're easy, right? You _said_ they're easy."

"Jo." The static stops. " _I_ got in. You'll do fine."

He can hear her swallow. "Yeah. You're right."

Doubt never sounds nice coming from her; she doesn't wear it well, so Dean tries leading. "'Course I am. Older and wiser and all that crap."

"Yeah, right. Wise. Sure."

That's better. Her words are short and clipped, but at least they're even and dry instead of down-turned. 

They talk. They talk about his mom and dad, her mom, Bobby, Missouri, all the asses who drop by the saloon, all the people she's had to punch in the face. She asks again about Sam, about him, about Ash, who she almost talks to as much as she does him, so it's probably just going through the motions. They talk about the old park being redone and refurbished, the times they had there. They talk about stupid mistakes and even prom and Baby and the backseat and how nice it'll be to have them home for Thanksgiving.

What they don't talk about is high school and senior year and life without Sam and Dean and connections formed among her graduating class. What they don't talk about is how fucking strangled she is and how she likes time at the bar more than the school and how much she'd give just to breathe in the air of somewhere new.

They don't talk about the unspoken, the obvious. And she doesn't thank him and can't bare to. Words like that flow quiet between them, a steady tightrope wire that can't break, won't break, at least hasn't so far. All he says on the subject, really, like every time is, "You're gonna love it here."

 _I hope so_ , says her deep breath and the audible thump of her shoulders against the wall. Maybe it's because the sun's rising soon and they're both suckers for sunrise, but she murmurs out instead, "Miss you guys."

"Same here. Really, same here." He's closed his eyes. As he learned last year, distance really, really sucks. "It'll be May before you know it."

For a moment he thinks he's lost the signal, because the quiet's too long for Jo. Then she snorts and quips, "Gotta survive to Thanksgiving first. We are locking the fucking door this year."

How thankful he is that she can't see his mouth contort and flip and his face pale. Oh. Oh, last year was an experience. "...Yeah. ...Fuck, yeah, we are."

All at once she's laughing again and he lets out a few chuckles too, unconsciously glancing to the door, just in case Jo's enraged mother bursts in with a very large knife. It's when her laughter turns into a yawn that he realizes how tired he is too. That's what weekends are for, really. He'll never understand Sam's desire to rise with the freakin' sun.

Dean tentatively asks, "You gonna be okay?"

He sees Jo's tilted head and down-turned lips in his mind's eye. "You're not serious, right?"

"Naw, of course not."

The same sign off as always.

Thanks for the talk, she doesn't say.

"Call some time later. Get some sleep," she does say.

"You too."

Love you, neither of them says.

"See you soon," she does say.

"Not soon enough," he does say.

After he's closed his phone, laying back in the dark with heavy eyes, he thinks to himself, next time. Next time he'll say it. Or maybe next time he can see her face.

He dreams about Thanksgiving and he dreams about prom and he dreams about next fall.


End file.
